Small and Simple Things
by Protector of the Gray Fortress
Summary: The great detective faces a fear and as always the good Doctor is there to help him through it. Challenge within.


**This is a piece I wrote at the request of KCS, and it gave me an idea for a challenge which i shall post here because i'm too lazy to go post it in the proper place.**

**I challenge anyone who is inclined to do so, to write a fic in which Holmes or Watson have to face a fear. Simple but a nice chance to delve deeper into our lad's psychology. **

**Good luck and hope you enjoy this.**

* * *

I have gone many places and found myself in numerous situations into which I would never had ventured had it not been for my long association with Sherlock Holmes.

I have come to know him through these adventures, perhaps better than any other man, and I have been privy to witness both his best and lowest moments. No man could call himself a friend if he did not take part in both the strengths and weaknesses of a comrade. Indeed, this is one of the things that have helped to create a strong bond of friendship between Holmes and myself.

The account that follows here is one instance in which I witnessed both instances, and gained an even greater confidence in the character of my usually enigmatic friend.

The circumstances that led us to this supposed situation I have recorded in the affair of the Salted Sturgeon, yet another case for which the public, according to Holmes, is not yet prepared. Suffice it to say our pursuit of the villain Henrik Walhman had led to investigate an old coalmine, and it was here that we found ourselves outwitted in a manner that now seems disgustingly simple.

No sooner had we entered the mine shaft then we heard a great cracking noise behind us, as though the earth itself had opened up to swallow us. Holmes shouted something unintelligible and turned back toward the entrance just in time to see the great flood of boulders and debris that filled it as the support beams gave way.

A cloud of dust accompanied the terrible noise and wafted over us, smothering my lantern even as I was swept from my feet.

I fell back with a choking cry and felt several large rocks strike me, one came painfully close to my bad shoulder and a second struck a hard blow to my leg, grazing through cloth and skin with its rough edge before rolling on.

I could only cover my head with my arms and wait for the avalanche to end.

When it did, I opened my eyes to find myself in total darkness, the air still and choked with dust. I shuddered as I recognized the terrible closeness that comes from being in a small, enclosed space, cut off from air and light and escape.

I did not think I was seriously injured, or at least I was still to numb to register any damage, rather my first concern was for my friend. He had been closer to the tumble of rocks than I. Had he been caught in it?

"Holmes?" I choked on the stifling air and fumbled about me feeling rocks and loose, damp earth. "Holmes, can you hear me?"

There was no answer, and I could not find him in the dark. I reached toward the place where I believed I had dropped the lantern.

I felt my heart sink a little as my fingers met only more earth. I reached instead into my jacket for the spare candles I had brought and struck a match.

The flame flared and waved wildly as my hand shook with the shock of what I had just gone through. I only just managed to catch it on the wick.

The light cast a feeble glow into the darkness and I was hard put to make out the dim shapes that surrounded me.

"Holmes?"

Still nothing, I turned in the direction of where the entrance had been. A seemingly impassable wall of rock and dirt met my gaze.

"Holmes!"

In a fit of energy, born from fear I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled as my injured leg gave way beneath me and panged sharply, making me cry out.

I kept hold of the candle and was on my feet again in an instant, using the wall for support as I fairly dragged my way to the great pile.

Then my heart leapt as something shone in the light, bright and shining against the dull cast of the dirt.

Holmes' revolver, I caught hold of it, and called again.

"HOLMES! CAN YOU HEAR ME!?"

A portion of the rubble shifted, there was a moan.

"HOLMES?!"

He was alive, I could hear his breathing, and it quickened as he gained consciousness, raising himself on his elbows, a great layer of dirt falling from his back like a cloak.

He raised a blackened face that contrasted sharply with his wide, white eyes.

"Watson?"

I breathed out a prayer of relief and quickly sat back against the wall as my arms trembled.

"Watson…what…what happened?"

I raised my head and looked at my friend sharply, had he perhaps struck his head?

Holmes was sitting up, and looking about us at the darkness.

"Are…are we…"

He broke off his question as the full gravity of our situation struck him and he swallowed.

Swallowed?

I straightened and leaned closer to him, certain that the dim light must be playing tricks with my eyes.

"Holmes, are you hurt?"

He did not turn to look at me, did not give any sign that he had heard me at all, only stared at the darkness, still as a stone.

I examined his expression with concern for it seemed to me he was somewhat paler than usual…even gaunt, as though he might be physically ill.

"Holmes, are you alright? Were you hurt?"

Still he said nothing.

My concern finally broke the last of my composure and I snapped. "Holmes, look at me!"

He jumped and turned to face me, his eyes wild…and with a sudden realization I understood the expression on Holmes' face. And it surprised me no small amount for I had never seen it alight that particular countenance before.

It was not one of pain, dazed confusion, or even anger…Sherlock Holmes was afraid.

Holmes afraid? It was unthinkable, it was unimaginable, but there it was, my friend crouched in a darkened tunnel, trembling not only from shock but fear, and the reason for his anxiety was only too clear.

I softened my voice slightly. "Holmes, were you hurt?"

"No…no Watson, I'm alright."

He was breathing very quickly, too quickly, it would do neither of us any good for him to hyperventilate.

"Holmes." I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

He pulled away shaking his head, absurdly proud even in this situation, his eyes were lowered as though not to meet my gaze, he was shaking fairly badly.

I sighed, somewhat exasperated for we were in fairly dire straits and the last thing I wanted to deal with now was his pride.

As though to remind me, the candle I had set aside suddenly wavered and toppled, plunging us into darkness once again.

There was a short-lived oath from the man beside me and a hand clutched my arm in a desperate grip.

"Watson!"

"I'm here Holmes, its alright."

Another oath, my friend's hand quivered with suppressed nerves.

I reached out and found the candle, lighting it even more quickly than before for I myself was unnerved by my friend's reaction.

Never in all my life had I seen him behave in such a manner.

Once again the small flame tried valiantly to light the smothering tunnel and I turned my gaze hurriedly towards my friend.

He was rigid, pressed against the wall, his face chalky. As the light swept over him he let out a small breath and opened his eyes.

He caught my gaze, colored, and looked away at once.

This was too much and I had a sudden absurd urge to laugh. Not, heaven forbid, because Holmes was afraid, I myself had a few paralyzing fears and he knew about most of them. I was prompted to laugh not at Holmes' weakness, but at the aloof and enigmatic self image which he held to be so precious. His pride would not let him admit to fear, though it was a perfectly normal and very common emotion.

I swallowed my laughter, this was very thin ice that I now had to tread.

"Holmes."

He let out a shaky breath then swallowed again, still trying valiantly to ignore me.

I sighed, I could not add to my friends' discomfort, and my own character would not allow me to press him on the matter. Perhaps if there were something else to distract him.

"Holmes, I need your help."

At once my friend turned back to look at me, the fear somewhat abated by concern.

"Can you give me your arm?" I asked, giving him instruction lest his fear cloud his thoughts. "We should move away from this rubble."

His gaze flickered to the filled entrance then to the darkness of the tunnel beyond, he looked as though he might be ill again.

"Holmes," I insisted, sharpening my voice.

He got to his feet, his unsteadiness still painfully apparent and reached down to pull me to my mine.

I gasped as my injured leg took the weight and was relieved to feel Holmes' arm tighten round me.

"Over there," I said through gritted teeth, nodding toward a relatively clear space.

He moved quickly as though in a hurry for the task to be over and I did my best to keep the candle straight and steady before us.

When we reached the spot Holmes lowered me gently to the floor then collapsed beside me, breathing heavily, his head lowered in his hands.

I put a supportive hand on his shoulder as I strove to catch my own breath, and this time he did not pull away.

"Its alright Holmes." I said leaning back against the cool stone. "Inspector Morley knew we were coming here, it won't be long before they discover us."

He nodded tightly, then said something too soft for me to hear.

"What?"

"Air." he raised his head and looked at me. "Air, I said air, Watson…what about…"

"We'll be fine." I said quickly, "This mine has been open for years, there is plenty of breathable air in here."

"And…" he hesitated again, his face coloring again, for he had no choice now but to admit to his fear. "…what about the light?"

That _was_ a concern, and I quickly checked the number of candles and matches in my pocket.

"We have enough for a few hours." I said quietly.

Holmes swore and lowered his head again.

I felt an air of queasiness rise in my own stomach, for I knew what I had to request of my friend, and if I did not relish it then it would be doubly worse for him.

"Holmes…we should save them."

"Oh Blazes! Watson!"

"We may need them."

"You cannot be serious!" he raised his head and looked at me almost pleadingly, as though I could change our circumstances.

"I'm sorry old fellow." I said, and meant it most earnestly for I knew what it was to be seized by a crippling fear.

Holmes' face fell, took a deep breath then closed his eyes again.

I put a bracing hand on his shoulder and put out the light.

Holmes stiffened but kept a strong reign on his composure this time, several tense moments of silence passed, almost tangible in the alarmingly still air.

Neither of us would be able to last this for long.

"Holmes?"

Another brief silence, then.

"What?" His voice was tense and low, almost a whisper.

"Tell me how you knew it was Walham."

For a moment he said nothing, and I was afraid that he would choose to pass our forced captivity brooding.

"It was the fish at dinner Watson."

"The fish?"

"The sturgeon… it was salty."

"I noticed, but how is that of any significance?"

"It was salted to disguise the fact that it was a day or more old, and not fresh as Walham insisted it was when he 'caught' it."

"You mean…he wasn't at the coast at all?"

"No, he was here, he was here the whole time."

I could tell that the talk was doing little to help my friend's nerves for he was curt and not enjoying the lecture on his deductions as he usually did.

"He was here and I blindly followed him."

And of course his thoughts would return to the walls of earth that surrounded us, it was not such an easy thing to ignore.

"Holmes, everyone is apt to make mistakes."

"Not me Watson! I'm not supposed to blunder, I have trained myself to notice and observe and think and…" he broke off with a muttered oath and I his breathing grew alarmingly rapid again.

"Holmes." I tightened my grip on his shoulder. This however only seemed to make him crumble further.

"Oh Watson I'm sorry."

"Its perfectly normal to have fears Holmes."

He didn't answer that, and I didn't blame him. Its one thing to be told, and entirely another to believe it.

"We'll get through this, it will be alright old chap."

"Ridiculous."

"You're not ridiculous, you're human, though sometimes I find that hard to believe."

He snorted at that, though he was still sitting as rigidly as though he were carved of wood.

"You've never been afraid to go into places like this before." I added, unable to stay my curiosity.

He shivered.

"Fear is controllable Watson, like every other emotion…I can handle certain situations…but this…"

"Why?"

"I got lodged in a chimney when I was nine years of age."

Silence followed this, for I was too stunned to speak at once.

"A chimney?"

"I was a very curious child."

"What were you doing up a chimney?"

Holmes sighed.

"Mycroft had a bird, it escaped up the flue…and of course he could not fit himself."

I suppressed a sudden fit of laughter at the unbidden image of the older Holmes' brother attempting such a feat.

Holmes chuckled weakly.

"He didn't send you after it surely?"

"No…no he tried to stop me…and then I…"

He shuddered again and I was inclined to slip my arm around his shoulders, holding it there supportively when he did not object.

"I'm sorry Watson." He said again.

I sighed, recalling many other times when I had shown fear, and Holmes had been the one to offer courage and support when I most needed it.

"Norbury."

"What?"

"You told me to say 'Norbury' when you are being overconfident."

"How does that apply to this situation Watson?"

"You simply assume that you, unlike the average man, should be free of perfectly natural fears. That is overconfidence If I ever heard it, its practically insulting Holmes."

Another silence as my friend considered this, then I was relieved to feel him relax slightly against my arm.

"Thank you, Watson."

"Not at all old chap, stop apologizing or I shall move to the other side of the tunnel."

I will not recount all the hours we passed in the mine, waiting for the inspector and help to arrive, for the time spent there was hardly pleasant and even now the recollection brings a shudder.

It was terrible enough for me, but for Holmes it was much worse, and the long hours were only passed with difficulty.

Suffice it to say that we survived them, and that throughout my friend showed a great deal of willpower and ingenuity that I would have previously believed to beyond any man, even him.

We were both exhausted and strained to the very edge of our nerves when at last our rescuers broke through the blockage and Holmes and I were able to stumble out into the beautifully clear air, both of us black with dirt and coal dust, dehydrated and ignorant of the profuse apologies and exclamations of the inspector.

I took several deeps breaths of air, then turned in concern to my friend, leaning heavily on his arm as he looked up at the high, clear sky.

"Holmes?"

He looked at me, and I was relieved to see his weary and worn face break into a slight smile.

"Come Watson, I think we are both in need of meals, baths, and in your case a physician."

I smiled. "That sounds marvelous, but what about Walham?"

"Oh we don't need to worry about him." said my friend motioning toward several constables who were still gathered at the entrance of the tunnel.

I looked, and saw that the object they were gathered around, was in fact that battered form of the man who would be our murderer.

"Seems his trap fell back upon himself." Holmes said coldly.

"Then I suppose the case is closed."

"Indeed." Holmes' face warmed as he took hold of my arm to help me limp to the cart. "I see no reason to linger."

"Back to Baker Street?"

"Back to Baker street."

"Do you think you'll pursue your ambition of becoming a chimney sweep?"

I was obliged to duck a swat to the head.

Neither Holmes nor I have ever made many references to this little incident, though I have never forgotten it.

And as little significance as it may hold, it has always reminded me that as confident as Holmes is, he has his own frailties and weaknesses, as well as his pride. A man is entitled to both.


End file.
